The páramos and their little-known quality: they not only provide us with water, they also capture CO2, and they do it even better than the Amazon rainforest.

September 9, 2025, 9:00 AM Updated: 09.09.2025 09:00

In Colombia, when someone thinks of a páramo, the first thing that comes to mind is mountains filled with frailejones, immense lagoons, and mist that collides head-on with green grasslands dominated by scrubland and home to deer, eagles, and bears. All of this, along with plenty of water, shapes the collective imagination of this type of ecosystem, which provides this resource to 17 million Colombians, according to estimates by the Humboldt Institute.

Although little is still known about páramos as carbon sinks—as this is a relatively new topic, having only begun to be studied in Colombia in 2010—the findings broaden the discussion surrounding these ecosystems to much more than just "water factories." In fact, to be more precise, páramos don't produce water, but rather regulate it, functioning like a sponge that captures rain and moisture (capable of holding up to twice their dry weight in water). They then release it into small streams that become rivers from which populations obtain their water.

Despite their vital importance, páramos face numerous threats. In a moderate warming scenario, the páramos would see their temperatures rise by up to 1.5°C; they are also receiving less rainfall and, as a result, are becoming increasingly drier. This was reflected in the crisis that Bogotá experienced in 2024, when the lack of rainfall and low humidity in the Chingaza páramos area, which supplies up to 70% of the water consumed by the capital's residents, led to water rationing for a year.

Added to this is the degradation of this small but vital ecosystem—which occupies just 1.7% of the country's continental territory. Although there is no exact figure for how many hectares of páramo are lost each year, as there is no entity or study that measures their loss, it is estimated that around 13% of them have already been transformed. The main factors that put them at risk are agriculture and livestock farming.

In Colombia, it is common to see dairy cows, used on small farms, around some páramo complexes. Crops are also planted, primarily potatoes and onions. This situation is more serious in the Eastern Cordillera: of the five areas with páramo cover in the country, this is the one with the greatest transformation, with a total of 18% of its cover modified. It is followed by the Central Cordillera, with 9%; the Nariño-Putumayo region, with 8%; and the Western Cordillera, with 5%. In fact, according to data from the Humboldt Institute, only 51% of Colombia's páramo complexes have some type of legal conservation measure.

With these threats, the role of moorlands becomes even more important. If they are not protected, the carbon they capture and store would be released, increasing the global emissions situation.

Conrado Tobón, PhD in ecohydrology and leader of the Hydrology and Ecosystem Modeling Research Group at the National University, is one of the scientists who has most studied high mountains in the country. After years of exploring 17 of Colombia's 37 páramo complexes, he insists on the urgency of recognizing that carbon capture and storage in their soils is one of the most important ecosystem services they provide.

For him, also the author of one of the most comprehensive books on these ecosystems in the country, which includes a chapter dedicated exclusively to how their soils function, a key point is that carbon loss not only has climatic implications, but also water implications. What he means, in simple terms, is that soil organic matter (where carbon is captured and fixed) is also essential for the water cycle: it allows infiltration, retains moisture, and regulates flow to aquifers. "If we lose that carbon, we're losing water," Tobón concludes.

This is evidenced by studies conducted by the research group he leads in the Guantiva-La Rusia páramo, in the department of Boyacá, northeast of Bogotá. They have worked with more than 60 community aqueducts to help restore these ecosystems and prevent the páramo from losing its capacity to provide this service.

“The streams associated with transformed watersheds dry up every summer. The communities have seen this and recognize it,” he asserts. Therefore, for him, conserving soil organic carbon should be a national objective, just as protecting water is. “It would be another ecosystem service already valued in some páramos and that the country should take into account when making decisions about these territories,” he insists.

Gloria Yaneth Flórez Yepes, a professor and researcher at the University of Manizales who has been studying these ecosystems for more than 15 years, agrees with this analysis. The expert clearly points out that the direct loss of carbon affects the water cycle. “When organic matter is lost, the soil's apparent density is affected and infiltration processes are reduced. Therefore, the water that should remain is lost through runoff,” explains Flórez. This situation not only compromises the balance of the ecosystem, but also the water supply for millions of people down the mountain.

Few researchers and experts in Colombia have studied the carbon-capturing capacity of páramos. One of them is Juan Carlos Benavides, a climate change expert and coordinator of the Ecosystems and Climate Change Laboratory at Javeriana University. Since 2018, the scientist has been working with Conservation International Colombia to study the carbon sink capacity of the páramos in the Vista Hermosa de Monquetiva Regional Natural Park, in the municipality of Guatavita (Cundinamarca).

The research is part of an initiative that seeks to conserve and document the ecosystem services provided by the high mountains to Bogotá and nearby municipalities, primarily through the Chingaza-Sumapaz-Guerrero moorland complex. The Vista Hermosa de Monquentiva Park, with an area of ​​14,437 hectares, is part of the Chingaza moorland and has become—according to the expert—an "experimental center" as it is important for water management in the capital and surrounding municipalities, and it also enjoys community support for its protection and study.

“Monquentiva is becoming a high-tech experimental center, working closely with the community to understand these paths to recovery,” explains Benavides. Thanks to the work of local leaders such as Gilma Rodríguez Jiménez, a member of the Association of Women Entrepreneurs of Guatavita (Ameg), and Juan Camilo López, a local beekeeper, ecological restoration processes have been implemented for almost twenty years. This, in turn, has allowed for in-depth studies of carbon, methane, and wetland dynamics.

One of the areas of particular importance for research is located where Laguna de Guasca used to be: one of the several sacred lagoons in the region that was drained in search of gold during the colonial era. The land was later converted into a vast livestock and agricultural estate by Dutchman Gonzalo Linnus Martos. Since 2017, Benavides has led a study there on the gases captured by this ecosystem, which is now a protected area dedicated to biodiversity research and conservation.

Just as páramos can transform from carbon sinks into carbon emitters after degradation—for example, when they are plowed up to plant potatoes—the trend can also be reversed. In Vista Hermosa de Monquentiva, the research team has documented how the area has regained its capacity to capture polluting gases. “In less than four or five years, you have a complete change in the ecosystem, and they stop being greenhouse gas emitters and become carbon accumulators,” explains Benavides.

Peatlands, in particular, have demonstrated an exceptional capacity for carbon storage. In Monquentiva, for example, a single hectare can contain up to 2,000 tons, according to researchers consulted for this article. "That's between five and ten times more than a tropical forest retains," Benavides asserts. The key, he insists, is that these ecosystems remain flooded, which prevents the decomposition of organic matter due to the lack of oxygen.

David Santiago Rocha Cárdenas, a researcher specializing in carbon capture and CEO of The Ecosystem Carbon Conservation SA (a company dedicated to the restoration and sustainable management of ecosystems), has a simple way of explaining it: “[In peatlands] it seems as if time has stopped. The leaves and plant material that falls there don't fully decompose due to the lack of oxygen, which causes the carbon to remain trapped in the soil.” For him, who works hand in hand with Juan Carlos Benavides, these types of wetlands and their immense capacity as carbon sinks have been ignored for years.

But not all páramos are the same, nor do they all have peatlands, nor do they all have the capacity to capture the same amount of carbon. In some—such as those in Los Nevados National Natural Park—the carbon content is lower due to the soil's mixture with volcanic ash, while in others, such as Chingaza and Sumapaz, the top few centimeters of soil can accumulate between 360 and 760 tons of carbon, according to estimates by experts consulted for this report.

Restoring páramos requires patience, science, and, above all, working with local communities, explains Patricia Bejarano, director of the sustainable high-mountain landscapes program at Conservation International Colombia. “This isn't a process that can be achieved in two or three years… reversing ecological damage takes time. And you can't have a successful conservation project if your communities don't have well-being,” she emphasizes.

Law 1930 of 2018, known as the Páramos Law in Colombia, established that these ecosystems are strategic for the country and require special protection. Therefore, it determined which activities should not be carried out in the ecosystem. This does not mean that low-impact productive or agricultural activities cannot be carried out in the páramos, but rather that they must be environmentally sustainable and comply with certain guidelines, such as the use of good practices that respect environmental standards and guarantee the protection of the ecosystem.

In Vista Hermosa de Monquentiva, the strategy was clear: reduce disturbances—such as livestock—and allow the ecosystem to regenerate naturally under a protected status. The park's declaration by the Regional Autonomous Corporation of Cundinamarca, the area's environmental authority, facilitated passive restoration, which was less costly and more sustainable in the long term. "The system is recovering positively because all three factors are in place: community support, some financial resources for monitoring, and favorable ecological responses," says Bejarano.

Community support has been key. Transforming territories that were once pastures into sustainable land uses means ensuring their inhabitants a decent and stable livelihood. To achieve this, experts say, it is necessary to foster diverse production systems that maintain family income, keep young people in the countryside, and better adapt to the changing climate, while protecting the ecosystem.

This transition, Bejarano acknowledges, must be fair: “It's not just about stopping planting potatoes or raising cattle. It's about proposing solutions that allow communities to give up land without affecting their quality of life.” Furthermore, in many cases, climate variations are already putting their traditional systems at risk. “Even potatoes and dairy cattle are highly dependent on the climate… many losses are generated, especially during times of drought,” the expert insists.

In Guatavita, near the Chingaza moorland, Gilma Rodríguez Jiménez, a member of the Association of Women Entrepreneurs of Guatavita (Ameg), is among those who defend the idea that sustainable practices make it possible to protect the region they inhabit and also guarantee the future of the dairy business she and 39 other women use to produce.

Ameg has been converting milk from its members' small farms into yogurt, caramel, kumis, and country cheese for 25 years, under the Carbo Lac and Simqua brands. "We learned that if you conserve water, you get more milk. And if there's more milk, you get more products. That changed the way we see our livestock farming," explains Rodríguez. For her and her colleagues, agriculture and the páramo can coexist.

“We trained in silvopastoral systems, we fenced water sources, planted trees to provide shade and protect the soil, and carried water to the drinking troughs without the cows stepping on the troughs,” he says, while noting that they now even collect manure and compost it for their own crops.

Silvopastoral systems—a form of production that integrates trees, grasses, and animals on the same land—have radically transformed the environmental impact of farms in this ecosystem. Previously, traditional livestock farming models not only compacted the soil and eroded water sources with the direct passage of livestock, but also led to a loss of biodiversity by trampling other animals and eating native vegetation.

Today, combining tree and grass planting with rotational livestock management (a practice in which animals are periodically moved between different plots to prevent overgrazing and allow vegetation to recover) helps conserve soil moisture, sequester carbon, and partially restore the ecological balance of highly vulnerable areas.

Ameg hasn't been the only one. Other productive initiatives in the area have positioned themselves as an alternative to traditional agriculture, which impacts the high mountains. One of these is that of Juan Camilo López, founder of Apiman and producer of honey and other beekeeping products, such as pollen. López is also the logistics coordinator for Dulce Monte, a community organization responsible for marketing everything sustainably produced in the villages near the rural area of ​​Guatavita, where the producers of Ameg and Apiman honey are located.

Thus, these communities are rethinking agriculture and livestock farming in the páramo. Today, in the Vista Hermosa de Monquentiva Regional Natural Park, it's common to find Andean bears roaming freely among the mountains, rather than cows trampling and compacting the soil.

If all the experts interviewed for this report agree on one thing, it's that much more research is still needed on páramos. Not only on their biodiversity and their capacity to regulate water, but also on their immense—and until now little-known—potential as carbon sinks. But to achieve this, they warn, resources are needed.

They assert that more research is needed to better understand how many tons each ecosystem accumulates, depending on its composition or the time it may take to restore degraded areas.

“In Colombia, we still lack many resources to conduct good research,” warns Gloria Yaneth Flórez. For her, it's not just a matter of academic will, but also the complexity of working in high-mountain ecosystems. Traveling to páramo areas entails high logistical costs: accessing remote territories, transporting specialized equipment to measure soil and water conditions, and supporting technical staff in sites where living conditions are difficult due to the altitude and climate.

Added to this is the cost of laboratory analyses, such as those used to determine the amount of carbon stored in soils, measure water quality, or identify invasive species. This position is also supported by Conrado Tobón, who points out that in many cases, the available data comes from undergraduate theses written by university students who, due to insufficient resources, are limited in their analysis and data collection.

Furthermore, updated figures and ongoing monitoring of threats to and losses of páramo forests in Colombia are needed. In all cases, the same principle applies: what is unknown is not protected, and the páramo's capacity is fragile. With drained wetlands, plowed scrublands, and areas invaded by livestock, it will be difficult for them to continue retaining the gases that warm the atmosphere.

Therefore, the work of these researchers has opened the door to better understanding these previously ignored virtues, combined with the work of people like Juan Camilo and Gilma who, along with dozens of leaders and farmers who live in this area, are currently protecting this ecosystem, vital to the future of Colombia, but also the world.

(*) This article is part of a collaborative special between Mongabay Latam, EL TIEMPO, La Barra Espaciadora and Runrun.es